Facets
by Ballades
Summary: Peeks into the lives of Shikamaru and Temari. Drabble collection spanning the last five years. Now that the series is over, you can consider some of this AU, though for the most part these little stories are all my headcanon.
1. Intro and QED

**A/N:** Welcome to my motley collection of ShikaTema drabbles that I've collected over the years. I've been writing them for the longest time but only now joined . There's a lot of uploading to do! These drabbles span a good five years. I started writing them in 2006 and aside from a break of a year or two, haven't stopped. What I love about this pairing is that there's always something to mine, always something new to write about. I'll do my best to get these uploaded in as chronological a fashion as I can, so that you can see how I've grown through the years.

The first drabble I ever wrote was a piece of crap so I'm going to pretend it never existed and move on. This here is something I titled QED. I always thought that if Shikamaru knew what Latin was, he'd have a deep appreciation for it. This was written in early 2006. It spans 223 words, and took me 19 minutes.

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><p>When their relationship first started, the most common question asked by just about everyone was why. Why Temari? Why not someone else, why not someone less opinionated, or someone prettier, or someone from their own village?<p>

It wasn't as if he couldn't come up with good reasons, but to him, they all sounded silly. What could he say? That she was really good at Go and Shougi, and he could easily spend all day playing against her? Or maybe that he was too lazy to find someone better? Or could it be that he was dating her just to keep the relations between the two villages good?

What he wanted to say, but couldn't because he'd just get teased about it, was that she was a challenge he was willing to face. He weathered her flashfire temper and her embarrassing nicknames for those peaceful afternoons and early mornings together. He put up with the distance between them for breathless nights and the smell of lavender and that private, tender smile.

And really, it was the way she kissed him, kissed him with a heat reminiscent of the desert she came from, marking him as hers, _hers_, that left him with an ache in his heart and the knowledge that there was no one else.

Quod erat demonstratum, after all. He couldn't argue that.


	2. Untitled drabbles, Tough Girl

**A/N**: These three drabbles were all written in the same day, apparently; well, according to LJ, I posted them all on the same day. The first two were probably written at work. The last one was written while I was supremely bored during Mahler 6, during the 2nd and 3rd movements. That was a lot of free time, right there. Word count goes like this: 100, 112, 236.

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><p>When Temari is with Shikamaru, she is alive.<p>

This isn't to say that she feels nothing when she is not with him. The rest of the time, Temari feels invincible. Battle brings out her violent streak, demonstrating for her enemies the power and style of a shinobi trained in Suna: merciless, quick, and brutal. When she fights, she is elegant, cruel. She is undefeated, strong, deadly. Nothing gets under her skin, not murder, not rape. She is a warrior, and ice flows through her veins.

This is why she likes Shikamaru's company. When she is with him, she feels... human.

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><p>There is a special language only Shikamaru and Temari know how to speak.<p>

It is the language of lovers, of intimate partnership, a mostly wordless communication constantly going back and forth between them. Temari reads Shikamaru more deeply than anyone else. A certain roll of his shoulders means he's had a rough day. A wrinkle of his nose and a snort translates to _entertain me, I've had enough of dealing with idiots_. Then she'll trash talk whoever it is until he smiles and kisses her.

And when he places his hand on her cheek, rests his thumb on her lips, and smirks at her, well, that is Shikamaru-speak for _I love you_.

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><p><strong>Tough Girl<strong>

Temari has a perpetual downward tilt to her chin. Shikamaru has noticed this in all the years they've worked together. It's the way she's used to presenting herself. She looks tough with her head at that angle; it's a habit borne of living a harsh life as a Sand shinobi.

The first time Shikamaru sees her without it, he is struck by how vulnerable she seems, how young and naive and pretty she is. He likes it, he decides, and resolves to force her chin up more often. So he uses his height to his advantage, purposely stepping close, making her turn her face up to his. It's a tactically sound position, he knows. Any number of moves can be initiated from there.

He delights in the curve of her neck when they're in bed, nudging her chin up with his nose, pressing his lips to her sun-darkened skin. Temari will arch against him and he will be rewarded once again with that other side of her, pure and delightful, with rose lips parted and a sigh issuing from her throat.

One day he is surprised when Temari greets him without that tilt, and he gives her such an open smile that she is startled by it. He doesn't tell her, but the real reason why he is glad is because for a while, he can forget his responsibility, forget what they are, and just be.


	3. Wordless Partnership

I have a certain fondness for this drabble. It was written for a request over on LJ.

Prompt: fighting  
>Word count: 272<p>

She meets him in the middle of a dusty battlefield, out of breath and grinning. Shikamaru is so tired from manipulating shadows that they have migrated to his eyes, and he walks with a limp from the cramp that's developed in his ass after kneeling so long. Temari takes one look at him and throws her head back to laugh, because the bloodlust is still singing in her veins, because there is no high quite like this one.

Shikamaru huffs but he reaches out for her and steadies himself just the same. Temari hands over her fan and he leans on it gratefully, squinting down the swath of land she has cleared, mouth moving silently as he counts. She notices with alarm that the enemy has gotten close enough to have mussed his hair. Biting her lip, Temari pokes at the loose strands hanging about his forehead and neck.

Shikamaru swats at her halfheartedly as he continues to count and think, his mouth now twisted into a frown. Temari sighs and tugs at the elastic, and with practiced ease redoes his ponytail. He doesn't even flinch when she licks her palm and smoothes down the flyaways, grimacing at the salty taste of dirt and sweat.

He stands fully and gives her fan back, then contorts into a strange position to stretch out his muscles. She knows without him saying that she's on point again, that they'll take the usual positions. Temari casts him a questioning look as Shikamaru holds up the appropriate amount of fingers. "We might die," he says.

Her only response is to laugh at him again. "They'll die first."


	4. A Spoonful of Sugar

**A/N: **Written on 5/30/06 at the behest of some people who thought I wrote too many depressing things. :3

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><p>When Temari comes back hurt, Shikamaru goes to the medicine cabinet and pulls out all the requisite materials, sits her down at the dining room table, and sets to work. On the table will be bottles of antiseptic, gauze, bandages, and medical tape already cut into neat, even lengths. His hands are deft, and he cleans and wraps with a methodical precision. He works in silence, and despite his desire to finish quickly he tries to make the process as pain-free as possible.<p>

When Shikamaru comes back hurt, he has to get the medicine himself. He lines the gauze and cotton swabs up next to the antiseptic, which he sets beside more gauze, followed by bandages and tape. He creates Temari's assembly line, because if she did things her way she would be fumbling about, disorganized, and he would be biting his tongue on his curses. Temari isn't particularly gentle with him, and when the peroxide fizzes against his skin he yelps, his face contorting into a mask of pain. "Crybaby," Temari will say, or perhaps, "Wuss."

He endures the agony, endures the insults, endures _her_. He does it because after the last piece of tape is secured, after every wound is butterflied shut, she leans over and gives it a kiss to make it better.


	5. Kiss

**A/N:** Written on 10/16/2006. 135 words.

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><p>The kiss is unexpected and random, happening in a little-known street in the golds and oranges of a Konoha sunset. Shikamaru has become more bold lately, Temari thinks, more spontaneous after returning from his last mission, and it shows in the way he holds her face, possessive. Yet for all of that his kisses are as lazy as always, lazy and openmouthed, slow and sweet, sensual enough to make her tingle.<p>

"You should do that more often," she says to him as he pulls away, and if her eyes are limpid with adoration it is solely his fault for making her feel that way. He doesn't even smirk as he leans forward to kiss her again, and this time he does it better. Temari shivers all the way back to his apartment.


	6. Boys are Babies

**A/N:** Written on 2/12/08. I took a year off from writing - stuff happened, namely an obsession with a certain video game - and returned when Shikamaru showed up in the manga again.

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><p>Shikamaru was going to die, he was sure of it.<p>

He knew what the body went through before death. In school, the med-nins had meticulously gone over all the details. The shivering, the chills; the inability to get warm, the fuzziness eating at the consciousness; the life flashing before the eyes, the light at the end of the tunnel. Shikamaru could put a checkmark next to all those bullet points - well, perhaps not the last two. Still, he was reasonably sure he was going to bite it.

A cool hand pushed against his forehead. Grimacing, Shikamaru cracked open an eye to see Temari leaning over him, frowning. He shivered violently, noting his clothes were damp. _Could be a stomach wound,_ he thought. _Great, just great._ He made a croaking in his throat.

"Here." Temari unstoppered a canteen and held it to his dry, cracked lips. Shikamaru made another face. "Drink."

"Just let me die," he said finally. "Let me go in peace, without nagging." Was that a death rattle? He shivered again. His head was killing him.

He could feel rather than see Temari settling back on her haunches. There was a loud sigh, and Shikamaru could almost hear her eyeballs rolling to and fro in her head. "You're not going to die, Shikamaru," she said acidly, resting the mouth of the bottle on his bottom lip. "You've got a bad cold, you big baby. Now drink. And stop sulking."

He scowled and obeyed. Given the circumstances, death would have been more preferable. Better a blissful release than a life spent drowning in his own fluids, with a hammer pounding at the back of his eyes. Or maybe that was caused by the ringing smack Temari had just dealt him.

"And quit giving me that look!"


	7. Fatherhood

**A/N:** Kurenai's story has always been a tragic one to me. Actually, most of the people inhabiting the Naruto world have sad or tragic stories; not surprising, given what they do. Kurenai's really got my heartstrings, though. Written on 3/18/2008.

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><p>Shikamaru is awake the second he hears the noise.<p>

The thin blanket pools around his feet as he rises from the couch, oddly alert given the time. It's the witching hour, the dark before dawn, when the world is swathed in a close, heavy darkness. It's a darkness he is familiar with, that he knows intimately. He moves through it with ease, slipping over the wooden floor, weaving between the furniture, silent until he reaches the bassinet.

The baby fusses at him as he picks her up. Shikamaru finds it amusing how handling a child has become second nature to him. He's got a hand under her head, the other supporting her body, and he tucks her close to him with one swift, practiced movement. "Shh," he tells her, "shh, hush now." He starts walking his usual track around and around, murmuring soothing nothings to the child in his arms, bouncing her gently.

She quiets down in a matter of moments, and Shikamaru marvels at how quickly she does it, how effortlessly he's fallen into fatherhood. If Temari were here to see him she'd bitch at him for going soft, for losing what edge he had. Shikamaru knows better, of course; despite her rough bravado she still looks at children fondly, and when she turns away there is always a slight smile on her face. The next time he sees her, he thinks, he'll make his intentions clear regarding their relationship. He'll probably need an entire carton of cigarettes if it doesn't go well.

When the baby finally relaxes against him, when her breaths finally grow deep and even, he places her back into her bassinet. His hand lingers on the crown of her head, on the black spider-silk tangle of her hair, fine and downy to the touch. She will have beautiful hair, long hair like her mother who is sprawled exhausted in the room next door. Before he returns to the couch Shikamaru checks in on Kurenai to make sure she is still sleeping. He holds himself motionless, listening for the sound of her breath. It is eerily silent in the house now, and Shikamaru feels a pain in his chest as he realizes it is the sound of Asuma's gentle snores that he is missing.


	8. Things Not to Say to Your Girlfriend

**A/N: **And occasionally, I write some crack. Written 3/19/2008 after some idle speculation. Warning! I drop the f-bomb here.

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><p>"You really should turn in those reports."<p>

Shikamaru grunted. "Tomorrow. I can't be bothered to do it today."

"And don't forget to go over the Chuunin exam roster again."

"Yeah, yeah." He flapped his free hand at Temari as he took another bite of his food. "I'll get to it."

"Do it as soon as possible. We've got a lot of work to do and you're getting us backlogged."

"Fine, fine, okay." Shikamaru shot her a pointed look. "Mom."

Temari froze, and the temperature around the both of them plummeted some twenty degrees. Shikamaru shivered, withering under her glare.

"Shikamaru," Temari said in what felt to him a relatively calm voice, "if you value your life, never, ever, _ever_ call me that again."

"Yes'm." If he could shrink he'd do it.

"Besides, does your mom fuck you the way I do?"

His mouth dropped open.


	9. Calligraphy

**A/N:** Written lovingly at the request of Sook on 5/17/08. I love handwriting analysis and it doesn't matter to me whether it tells us anything significant. I just love looking at handwriting and seeing personalities. And that inspired this little thing. 465 words.

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><p>Shikamaru's desk at home is, to make an understatement, a mess. Like many other things in Konoha it's slightly ramshackle, with a cracked plastic blotter lying atop a faded vinyl surface, supported only marginally by steel legs that are half-screwed in. Every time he looks at it, with its peeling paint and its piles of stuff, Shikamaru can't help but feel some pride at the wanton display of laziness, at the sheer volume of I-don't-care that is stacked in precarious mountains on an already wobbly foundation. Somewhere in there, he knows, are important things, like copies of treaties he was supposed to look over, scrolls detailing jutsus, letters needing responses. Between the amount of work he's assigned and his duties, however, he can never get to those things, and so the mountain grows, like a volcano oozing paper lava.<p>

One day Shikamaru returns home to find the usual stack of mail dumped onto the floor by his desk. He sorts through it with only half a mind - a thank you card, a schedule of notable Chuunin exam dates - when he comes upon a boldly marked envelope. Curious, he opens it, and discovers two sheets of characters marching straight down in even, military rows. He frowns. It's from Temari.

He settles onto his bed to read her uncharacteristic missive, leaning back onto his pillow with a hand behind his head. Above him, the fluorescent ceiling light shines dully through the rice paper, backlighting the characters. Shikamaru scowls, squints, reads through. Temari's writing is exactly like she is: brusque to a fault, with no embellishments, but with a surprising sense of fluidity, of continuity between words and phrases, sentences and paragraphs. As he reads he notes that her calligraphy is also much like her, unmistakably regimented, but with graceful sweeps reminiscent of her fan, and sharp, horizontal slashes, like punches to the face. He grimaces. Temari is expecting a reply.

Shikamaru's own handwriting is wiry and thin like he is, and when he uses a brush the tip of it dribbles ink in meandering loops that just barely manage to form characters. A select few can decipher his scrawl, Temari one of them, but as Shikamaru gets up he wonders briefly why she'd want to visit that sort of torture upon herself. He stands and shuffles over to his piles, pondering how much effort it would take to find brush and ink and paper, and time for writing. Too much effort, in all likelihood. Too much effort, definitely.

Shikamaru sets the paper down on the nearest pile. After a moment, he hesitates, his hand hovering over his desk. Then, carefully, he picks up Temari's letter, folds it, and stows it in his pocket. Tomorrow, he tells himself, he'll have to go buy a calligraphy set.


	10. Common Knowledge

**A/N:** Fandom started freaking out just a little when Shiho was introduced. This was my reassuring pat. Written on 6/29/2008.

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><p>"So I heard someone's sweet on you."<p>

Temari turns to face him, a smile spreading slowly across her face. The afternoon sun highlights her eyes briefly in a flash of bright green fire, and Shikamaru can't help but admire them, admire the ease at which her body drapes itself over his couch, long limbs arranged gracefully over the cushions and the arm. The corners of her mouth curl up as he doesn't reply, and she acquires a catlike grin, sly. "Been hearing around town it's that girl you worked with before, Shiho. Is that her name?"

Shikamaru sighs, puts his pen down, adjusts the various stacks of paper strewn across the floor. He takes a moment to stand and deliberately brush off dust from his flak jacket before he picks his way over to Temari and the smooth, golden skin on display. "Who?" he asks flippantly, sliding his palm up her thigh. He feels her grin widen as their lips touch, and thinks of nothing for a while.


	11. Presents

**A/N:** Written on 9/21/2008 for a friend of mine.

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><p>Shikamaru is slightly tipsy.<p>

It's late, he's tipsy, and the damn street light by his apartment door is out again. It's late and the only thing he can think about, aside from muttering curses under his breath as he stumbles into various objects, is that he's going to have a hangover in the morning. He can almost see Kurenai's smirk when he shows up to help her out tomorrow, see Chouji and Ino's knowing grins when he is more grumpy and irritable than normal. Damn them. Damn them because it's all their fault.

He manages to find the door and get inside, carelessly kicking off his sandals, almost tripping over an extra pair. Bewildered, Shikamaru holds himself up against a wall and blinks down at the shoes, not comprehending for a second that someone is already in his apartment. After a while he shakes his head, trying to clear it of the alcohol cobwebs. He hates it when his friends push him to drink more than he can handle - which is admittedly not much.

There is a single lamp lit in the living room, and as Shikamaru approaches to turn it off, he sees a small note on the side table. Frowning, he picks it up. "Happy birthday," it says, and it's in Temari's handwriting. "P.S. - Don't wake me up."

The "or else" is implied.

Smirking, Shikamaru switches the lamp off and goes to his bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. When he enters he sees the usual lumpiness of his sheets has been molded into a familiar form, with shoulders curving into a small waist and rising into gorgeous hips. Shikamaru takes a moment to appreciate the sight.

As quietly as he can, Shikamaru slips under the covers and into bed. He wiggles a bit, sighing as his rear settles into the large dent in the futon. After sleeping on his back for so long, the mattress has practically taken on his shape. Temari, however, is a side sleeper, and she likes to keep her back to him.

Temari also likes to sleep naked whenever she's not out on a mission.

Shikamaru figures that Kurenai can take care of herself tomorrow morning.**  
><strong>


	12. Surprisingly Domestic

**A/N:** Another one for that same friend. 9/21/08.

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><p>"Geez, Shikamaru, you really are spoiled," Temari said as she entered his darkened apartment, bags of groceries in hand. "You weren't kidding when you said it was fully furnished."<p>

"I also wasn't kidding when I said I didn't cook," Shikamaru replied, flipping the light switch on and kicking off his shoes. "I don't even know how to cut vegetables, and I don't have kitchen knives. What are you going to use?"

Temari set down a bag and drew so close that their noses almost touched. Shikamaru froze. What was she...?

"This," Temari said sweetly. Grinning broadly, she pulled his shortsword from its sheath and held it up, letting its edge glint in the light. She turned for the kitchen, tossing the long blade in the air with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with such objects. "Be a dear and bring the groceries in for me, will you?"


	13. Waste Not, Want Not

**A/N:** Written on 11/11/08. I can say that art imitates life.

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><p>Temari had an obsessive need to save everything. From scraps of cloth and old weapons to takeout chopsticks and last week's two mouthfuls of leftover dinner, Temari would put away every little thing that could be put to use later, no matter how much later it would take to be of use. Oftentimes, Shikamaru would grouse to himself, the things in question would never be of use, and Temari's clutter would start to take a life of its own, rising up in sinister piles from the floor, the windowsill, his desk, and the fridge.<p>

The piles in the fridge, so carefully compartmentalized in stacked airtight containers, were the focus of the night's activities. "It's smorgasbord night," Temari had said in response to their daughter's query of what was for dinner. "It's time to clean out the fridge."

Shikamaru could already feel the indigestion gnawing at him, but a more immediate concern was garnering his attention: their daughter was attempting to reason with her mother. _No,_ he mouthed at the child, shaking his head quickly whenever Temari's back was turned. _Don't say it, don't question it, I'll get you something later... Damn!_

The girl swung the door of the fridge wide and stood in front of it, hands planted on her hips, the very personification of Temari's stubbornness brought to life. "But," their daughter protested, "some of the stuff in here is really old! Look." The girl pulled out a container marked "rice". "This is from two weeks ago! Shouldn't we throw it out?"

Frantically, Shikamaru tried to catch her eye, even going so far as to put both his hands up and wave them around. Too late. "Throw it out?" Temari said evenly. Shikamaru grimaced. "Throw it _out_? Throw it out as in throw it away? Like wasting food?"

_Here it comes,_ he thought, and groaned.

"Would you like to know what happens to people in the desert when they throw out food?" Temari asked her child, who had by now realized the danger too late. She shook her head, her dark eyes wide. Shikamaru felt pity for her. "They _starve_. They starve, and their dried, desiccated corpses have such little meat on them that even the vultures won't eat them. Is that what you'd like to be? Useless to this world, not even fit for vultures when you die, wishing you had eaten that two-week-old rice?"

Their daughter clutched at the handle of the freezer door, trying to fit herself into the refrigerator under her mother's glare. "No ma'am! I want to be useful! Alive! And dead!"

"_Then you'll eat what's in the fridge,_" Temari growled, "_and you will be grateful_."

Most people thought the reason why Shikamaru had an iron stomach was because of Temari's cooking. No, he thought sourly, resigning himself to future gastrointestinal distress, it was because of Temari's cooking, several weeks past prime.


	14. Promptathon

**A/N:** Responses to prompts left as comments in my LJ. Written on 1/26/11 after a long break. Some are better than others.

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><p>Prompt: Babies and music<p>

Temari wasn't one for music. Growing up in war-torn Suna didn't afford her the luxury of the arts, except for the art of war. Still, there were some old folk songs that everyone knew, mostly about fighting or hardship.

It was one of these songs thst Temari attempted to hum while by herself one day. She'd heard that singing to unborn children made them smarter, or so the medics claimed when she visited them for her routine checkups. So she tried.

The baby shifted as she sang, and Temari felt a sharp, unkind kick.

She winced. This was definitely her child.

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><p>Prompt: Naruto...something ShikaTema set on the war-front, or in a strategy-meeting. Y'know...distractingly sexy minds, danger, banter...inability to act on impulses because of the situation.

When Shikamaru wanted to focus he usually found that he could do so no matter the circumstances. Handling the masses of shinobi pouring into Konoha was no small task, but Tsunade had given it to him knowing he would be able to handle it. And so he stood by the towering gates, answering questions, directing people hither and thither, taking care of any situation that might crop up.

It had crossed his mind, just barely, that Temari would be coming. Well, of course she would, she was Gaara's sister and personal bodyguard to boot. But he'd pushed that thought out of his head. Now was not the time to think about the unfinished business, six months old, that still lay between them. He'd spent enough time dwelling on that, he knew. Temari, on the other hand, probably just hit something really hard until she felt better and was able to forget.

Try as he might, however, Shikamaru's mind kept wandering, going back to that last night before she'd left, to that first kiss exchanged in the wan yellow light of a streetlamp, to the sudden heat and electricity that sparked between them. Love, lust even, was foreign territory to her and, true to her warrior self, she had shut them and him out. Not now, was her excuse, and though she'd been right -

Shikamaru caught sight of her signature hairstyle and suddenly everything was her. His feet moved, and he was approaching, calling her name despite himself. Vaguely he realized that he'd just left the person asking him for directions in an abrupt manner, but he didn't care. Green eyes and tanned skin and those legs, those long, long legs beckoned him. He called her name again and she turned to face him. Their eyes met, and for a split second Shikamaru caught the hint of something in their depths. He felt himself flushing, just a little. He reached out, laying his fingers on her forearm.

Her skin was very warm.

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><p>Prompt: I'd really like to see ShikaTem having a "secret" relationship and Ino andor Chouji and/or Kankurou trying to catch them being "couple-y." Bonus points for Gaara rolling his eyes or being generally unconcerned.

"You're gettin' really familiar with that Nara guy."

Kankurou is sitting on the couch of their temporary apartment, and Temari thinks that he is looking rather relaxed for someone who is about to get roughed up. Her brother gives her a sly look and stretches a little, spreading himself out languidly. He knows her well.

"I don't know what you mean," she says to him curtly. She thinks he's really asking for it, and knows that he's baiting her. "I barely saw him today."

Kankurou shrugs. Gaara appears out of nowhere to observe the conversation, and leans against a far wall with his arms crossed. Kankurou continues. "Maybe I should say that you're getting _comfortable_ around him."

It's true that when she's with Shikamaru, she is more herself. She is less Temari, the Kazekage's Sister, and more Temari, a woman who loves the smell of desert lavender. Shikamaru doesn't care about her status, and she appreciates it. She likes to think that they're friends. Somewhat.

"I don't know what you mean," Temari replies, perhaps a little defensively.

Kankurou gives her a look that voices his skepticism. "You smiled."

"Multiple times," Gaara chimes in.

Temari glares at both her younger brothers. She feels her fingers starting to clench, and her arm twitches towards her fan. "You're mistaken," she says, and folds her arms across her chest instead.

"Aw look, she's getting all defensive." Kankurou grins impishly. "Say, Gaara, as Kazekage you have the power to do whatever you want. Maybe you should send Temari off to Konoha. You know, diplomatic marriage. She'll be like a present. With legs."

Temari spins on her heel, takes two quick steps to the couch, grabs Kankurou by his scruff and hauls him up. "I'm your _older sister_, and you need to show me some damn -"

"I'll take it under consideration," Gaara interrupts, and with that he walks off.

The silence is immense, and for once in her life, Temari holds onto a completely still Kankurou. "I... I was kidding," he manages lamely. "Do you think he knows I was kidding?"

Temari makes a sound of disgust, rears back, and flings her brother hard at the floor.

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><p>Prompt: Revolution  Temari saving Shikamaru again and him paying her back in some way, whether by returning the favor, a gift, etc.

When the bandages come off, Temari can't help but put a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh.

"What?" Shikamaru grumps irritably at her. The scar tissue across his face pulls in a funny way.

"You look like your dad," Temari says finally, words filtering out through ten fingers. A second hand has joined the first.

"Oh shit," Shikamaru says instinctively. He can see a grin peeking out from behind Temari's hands and he can't figure out if she's laughing at the way he looks or if she's turned on by the scar.

"No, you're fine," Temari assures him, and Shikamaru knows it's the latter. Damn the woman and her fantasies. Temari's expression changes, and she says somberly, "It's good that you've healed so well. It was... close, for a while."

Shikamaru can't remember much about his convalescence except for flashes of ugly flourescent lights and the gradual awakening to the smell of lavender. Something grips him, starts a revolution in his heart, makes him want to do something completely and totally stupid. Like ask Temari to marry him.

Instead, in true Shikamaru fashion, he asks her to stay.

Temari gives him a puzzled look. "I'm already here," she says slowly. "I've _been_ here."

"That isn't what I meant," Shikamaru says, and he watches as his words sink in. Her eyes widen, and her hands return to her mouth.

After a long moment, she smiles faintly. "I think it's too early to make that kind of commitment," she tells him, but it's gentle. "I'll stay, though. For a little while. Until all this clears up. Maybe then I can think about it."

Shikamaru tries to smile, but the scar tissue pains him. He settles instead for looking at her, taking her in the way she is now. And then he remembers her earlier comment. "So I look like my dad now, huh?"

Temari nods. Of course she'd be attracted to scars. It's slightly creepy and yet entirely appropriate given her preferences.

"At least you don't look like my mom."

Understanding flashes across Temari's face, but instead of smacking him she sits down next to him, puts her lips to his ear. "No, but I can...act...like her."

Shikamaru shudders.

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><p>Prompt: Secret identities<p>

A shinobi has many faces, and Shikamaru is familiar with all of them.

He knows the face of duty, stoic and impassive, stony in the presence of death. He knows the face of loyalty, sometimes proud, sometimes anguished, but always silent. He knows the face of honor, and it is humble.

A shinobi has many faces, but Shikamaru knows that the will of fire comes from the truest self.

It is that true self he sees when he and Temari are alone together. She lays her fan aside, pulls the elastics out of her hair. She makes lighthearted remarks about how his hair is longer, cracks wise about his habits. She is open and unguarded that way, and Shikamaru sees what no one else does.

He is fiercely possessive about his secret.

A shinobi has many faces, and Shikamaru knows Temari's the best. 


	15. Improbable

**A/N:** I forgot about this one. Written on 9/1/06.

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><p>Against all odds and against all reasoning, against concerns over distance and life and death, Shikamaru marries Temari. "I'm a so-so ninja, and you're so-so looking," he jokes dryly after the ceremony, after he knows she cannot just punch him and leave again.<p>

Some years later they have a son, and against all Nara tradition he is a genetic freak, born with sandy brown hair like Kankurou's and an eye color Shikamaru has begun to call "Temari green". One day, their child asks the inevitable question. It's morning, and Temari has just plunked down Shikamaru's breakfast unceremoniously before yelling to take out the garbage and disappearing off to another mission. "Why did you marry _her_, Dad?"

Shikamaru heaves the deepest of sighs and stares into his bowl, searching for the truth amongst the short grains of rice. After some time, he gives up and simply replies, "Her smile."

The boy scowls and slithers down his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "What a crappy answer."


	16. Scents

**A/N: ** I always associate Temari with the smell of lavender. It isn't overly girly; it likes the heat; it's a scraggly kind of plant from the Old World that prefers things hot and sandy. Knowledge of it and its properties is in keeping with Temari's interests; I like to imagine that back home in Suna, maybe she has her own lavender patch and harvests the flowers when she can.

I kind of overuse the lavender theme. This is me poking fun at myself. Written 1/28/11.

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><p>It is on the walk back from dinner that Shikamaru finally pins down what had been bothering him all night. "Temari," he says, "what are you wearing?"<p>

She glances up at him from her calculated, non-rumor-starting distance of five or more inches away. "It's jasmine," she replies. "It's a small flower that only blooms in the evening."

Shikamaru's nostrils flare ever so slightly. "I don't like it," he tells her. "Too girly for you."

"What do you propose I wear, then?" she asks, returning her eyes to the careful task of watching the road.

"Me," Shikamaru says before he can think too much about it.

Temari's expression doesn't change a whit. "Point," she says. "Guess I'm staying at your place tonight."


	17. The Rising Tide

**A/N:** I had some bits and pieces saved in a Word document and I finally decided to flesh them out and get rid of them. Here's one from 1/30/11.

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><p>It has been entirely too long since Temari has seen Shikamaru. It's been so long that the best estimate she can come up with is a general one, a ballpark figure numbering in the months somewhere, give or take. Long enough for the seasons to come and go. Long enough for the yearly dust storms to sweep Suna, giving a Temari a welcome excuse to leave for the chuunin exams.<p>

Temari wonders how much he's changed since the last time she's seen him.

Konoha is still the same, Temari thinks to herself as she passes through the bustling streets. It's true, though; Fire country is stuck in a perpetual summer, verdant and wet, and every time she comes back it is a shock to her system. In Suna, the streets change in a heartbeat. Sand and wind have a way of never being stable, not like the trees and solid land that form the bedrock of Konoha. In Suna, one has to adapt, learn to live with uncertainty. In Konoha, things endure.

Temari finds that Shikamaru hasn't changed a bit.

He's gotten taller. His hair has grown out and his face has lost more of its boyishness. He has put on some weight, broadened some across the chest and shoulders, and Temari cannot help but imagine what Shikamaru is like under his layers of clothing.

Temari exchanges pleasantries with Shikamaru, and between them a silent promise is made to meet later.

He's been waiting for this, she can tell. When their eyes meet there is a certain smoulder in them, a fire that's been built and banked for the better part of a year. Temari watches, amused, as Shikamaru almost loses focus on his work, smirking through every stolen glance, every long breath. She does her best to remain professional. She doubts they are fooling anyone.

When they finally meet, it is like a cresting wave, slow and huge, rising from the sea.

Temari is not used to being prey, but Shikamaru is insistent. He turns those dark, intense eyes of his upon her and the hunger in them ignites something in her blood. They say nothing for a minute, and the silence is broken only by the soft sound of Temari's indrawn breath. Slowly, a smile creeps up onto his lips. She flushes.

"Welcome back," he whispers, a promise of things to come. Temari shivers.


	18. History Repeating

Written in 2007. Prompt: history lesson.

Nights in Suna are cold, much colder than the mild evenings in Konoha. Shikamaru knows this for a fact, knows that no matter the season, at night the desert will grow still and slow once the sun goes down. The wind carries a chill, too, one that won't go away no matter how tightly he zips his vest or how fast he runs, close on Temari's heels.

She is taking him somewhere, she tells him, someplace with significance. A history lesson, she calls it, and she beckons him nearer, urges him to go faster. She laughs, the sound whipping back to him, and Shikamaru knows that he'll never catch up to her, not here where she can harness the wind.

After a time she stops, points to a formation of rocks some distance away. "There," Temari says as Shikamaru finally draws even with her. In the wan moonlight he can see that her cheeks are flushed, that her pulse is fluttering in her neck. She looks at him, and Shikamaru sees in her eyes a bright, sudden lust. He swallows.

She sidles up next to him, tucks herself against him in such a way that he has to swallow again. "The first treaty between Suna and Konoha was signed here," she whispers, tilting her head up so that her lips brush his skin, right below the curve of his jaw. Shikamaru shivers as goosebumps ripple up his back. "Tell me, Shikamaru," and the way she says his name just makes something in him ache. "Will history repeat itself?"

He lets his arm circle her waist. His fingers find the knot of her sash and tug on it. Closing his eyes, he bows his head, feels the touch of her lips against his ear.

"Yes," he replies.


End file.
